


core

by qar



Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Dadza, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Self-Esteem Issues, only mentioned - Freeform, techno is only mentioned, thats how it be, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Wilbur lashes out. Tommy is a little upset. Phil's on damage control.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961299
Comments: 53
Kudos: 1657





	core

**Author's Note:**

> Philza Minecraft

"That must have been so awkward for you, Wil," Tommy says, grinning at Wilbur. "Very awkward."

They're in a Discord call, just him and Wilbur; Niki and Fundy had left a bit ago, and the two left had been talking quietly as Tommy finished up some schoolwork before retiring to bed. And Tommy kept making the same stupid joke. He was teasing, Wilbur knew, but it was getting so _fucking annoying_.

And Wilbur's day had been nothing short of terrible, despite nothing much happening. It's frigid in his office, and he'd spilled his coffee earlier, and he's just _so_ tired and _so_ annoyed.

Wilbur hisses in a breath. "You aren't my brother, Tommy, so stop fucking acting like it!" he snaps, dropping his head into his hands. "I've told you _so_ many times to stop making that fucking joke and you _never_ listen!"

There's a sharp intake of breath from the younger. Wilbur continues. "All you do is make stuff awkward when you say that shit! Stop talking when I ask you to!"

There's an abrupt silence in the voice call, and Wilbur breathes heavily, hand covering his face. "I don't need every word I say to be punctuated with "oh, Wilbur, that's so awkward for you!" You should learn when to _stop_! Grow up!"

There's another small noise from the other side of the call, and Wilbur rubs his temple for a second before registering what he's just said. His blood runs cold, and he looks up to see Tommy's camera being turned off. The glimpse he _does_ catch looks thunderstruck. "Tommy-"

"Sorry, Wilbur," a small, strained voice says. "I'll call Phil for you."

Tommy's icon disappears off his screen, and Wilbur drops his head back into his hands. He didn't mean to say that. He didn't mean to lash out.

Wilbur is good at one thing, and that is stopping his emotions getting the better of him. He'll bottle them up, or put them into words in his music. But he doesn't lash out. 

He isn't supposed to, at least. When he does, his silver tongue tends to get ahead of himself. Where it's usually used to diffuse tense situations, or make up long, emotional speeches on the spot, it's instead used to find the most painful spots to hit; how to cause a person the greatest amount of pain in the shortest way possible, before Wilbur comes to his senses.

He raises his head again, and half-heartedly opens his and Tommy's messages. The last ones are from his last stream, where Tommy'd messaged him halfway asking if he was okay. Wilbur's heart twists wretchedly, and he presses the call button. 

Declined.

_Tommyinnit is typing..._

_**Tommyinnit** Today at 12:35am_

_phil is joinig_

The green circle next to Tommy's name turns into a gray outline. There's the sound of someone joining the voice call, and Phil's voice echoes into his ears. Wilbur's too tired to try again.

~~~

Phil can tell when something is up with his boys.

Techno has a habit of being too quiet or speaking too much when he's upset to try and make it seem like he's fine; he'll sound a little too nervous or a little too monotone, and he'll hide his emotions pretty well until Phil or Wilbur pulls him into a separate call, and then he'll break down, and the cycle will start again.

Wilbur will be more volatile, and snap easier. It's pretty clear when he's upset, and sometimes he'll end up finishing streams quicker and going to Phil. He's the only one who's vulnerable without prompting. 

Tommy has thick skin for someone of his age and status, but it doesn't stop him from hurting. He'll fidget more, and he'll avoid eye contact with his camera during streams. He'll avoid all his friends until he physically can't, and when he breaks he breaks _hard_. Phil's honestly not even surprised. It must be hard being so young with so much pressure, and for all that the people around Tommy do for the teenager, they couldn't exactly help with the matter of the kid being himself. Tommy's persona is loud and brash, and he has to uphold it in front of tens of thousands of people daily. It must be exhausting.

So when Tommy messages him once- a short, curt message asking him to join a voice call with only Wilbur- Phil knows he has some damage control to do.

He joins the call to Wilbur with his head in his hands, turtleneck sleeves pushed up to his elbows, dark hair touching his desk.

"I fucked up, Phil," the younger male groans. "I have made a mistake."

"Oh shit," Phil prompts. "Like, TOS stuff?"

"No," Wilbur says. "You would've heard."

Phil watches in relative silence as Wilbur stands up, long legs untangling themselves from his chair, and starts to pace, headphone wire trailing behind him. "I've just had such a shit day, and Tommy just kept making the same fucking joke-" returns in front of the camera, absently staring at his hands. "- and he just kept making it awkward and it's cold in here."

"Hey," Phil says. "Sit down. Calm down. What happened?"

The brunet drops into his seat dramatically, and drapes himself across his chair so he's barely in view. Phil can still see Wilbur's large hands that cover his face, and the mop of dark hair that's mostly covered by a hoodie. "I fucked up."

"I got that," Phil says gently. "How?"

Wilbur lets out a short laugh. "No need to be a bitch." He sighs. "I lashed out at Tommy."

Phil frowns. "That doesn't sound good."

"No- no, but listen," Wilbur says. "You know how Tommy hates talking about feelings? Guess what! He finally talks to me about them, and I take his insecurities and twist them back on him." He laughs bitterly. "God, I would be such a terrible brother."

"You'd be a great brother," Phil starts, only to be interrupted. 

"Oh god," Wilbur groans. "I told him he wasn't my brother."

Phil blinks "Bruh."

"I know."

"Deadass?"

So Phil's on damage control.

He'd talked to Wilbur for a while longer before Techno'd joined, and he'd tried calling Tommy while the two younger men had a conversation, Wilbur's head still in his hands. Techno'd shot Phil some concerned messages about Tommy, and Phil'd told him he was _dealing with it, just talk to Wilbur, I'll deal with Tommy._

Tommy still isn't answering his phone; Phil entertains the idea of Tommy having gone to bed, but the moment he thinks of it his phone starts ringing. He picks it up.

~~~

"I'm going out," Tommy says, hair blowing into his eyes as he opens the door. 

"It's eight at night, Tom, where are you going?" his mother says, looking up from where she's staring at her phone on the sofa. 

"Phil's," Tommy says. "I'll be back in a bit."

He doesn't wait for a reply, and trips down the stairs before bolting down the street. The best thing about moving, Tommy's decided, is that Phil lives so close by. His parents have bonded with the older man over their want to protect Tommy from bitches on the internet, and Tommy's wound up falling asleep on Phil's sofa and waking up in the guest bedroom far too many times. Phil doesn't seem to mind, and neither do his parents; Phil's always mysteriously lurking by his door whenever Tommy storms out of the house in tears.

He's forgotten to put on a jacket, though, and a look behind him tells him that his mother isn't accompanying him like she usually would. Tommy's pride is too important to him for him to go back and grab a jacket, though, so he walks on.

The walk to Phil's house is short. The streets are entirely empty, and if he raises his voice he knows he'd be heard blocks down. The streetlamps give off a soft, orange glow, which contrasts with the bitter cold of Europe's streets in winter. Tommy slows down.

Maybe he shouldn't go. Wilbur had, after all, just told him what a nuisance he was; how he wouldn't stop talking for attention constantly, and how most people could barely stand to be around him. It was true.

Wilbur had hid his dislike for Tommy well, with constant praises and gushing about Tommy when he knew Tommy would join the call. By calling Tommy his little brother. It had worked well; really well. Wilbur was many things, and a good liar and a good actor were some of them. Tommy knew that.

And- well, if Wilbur hated him- Wilbur, with his kind, encouraging words, and his praise, and his blatant love and brotherly affection hated him, then what meant the others didn't? Techno hadn't spoken to him in months. Deo had bigger, better things to to. Tubbo was sweet, like he always was, but Tubbo was sweet to everyone. Tommy was mean enough to him. Surely there was hatred in a friendship like that.

And Phil had never failed to open his doors to Tommy once. Phil'd pulled him into his arms when Tommy showed up at his door with no warning, face mottled with bruises and tears from a classmate. Phil didn't scold him once when Tommy showed up at 2 am, having snuck out of his window, instead making him a warm drink and messaging his parents.

Phil was like a third parent. Tommy was like a disappointing son.

He comes to a stop. His arms are covered in goosebumps, and he's covering as much as he can with his hands, rubbing up and down. The wind is blowing. It's freezing, and Tommy is at a standstill.

The streetlights are a warm orange, but it's all artificial; no warmth, just light. Tommy gravitates towards one, moving out of the street and in the direction of a playground. 

He's really cold. He tugs his sleeves down, and flinches when his hands touch the cold metal of the swing's chains. Then he sits down.

It's really cold. He could go back, or go to Phil's, which is only a few houses away. Or he could just stay here, hands wrapped around frozen metal, and wait.

He's a disappointing friend, and brother, and child. He'll stay here. Even though it's really cold.

~~~

Tommy hasn't shown up yet. 

Usually, the teenager takes five minutes to walk over, from when his mom calls Phil to when Phil spots him hovering outside the front door uncertainly. It's been fifteen minutes, and he still isn't here.

Phil is a level headed man. He tells Techno and Wilbur that he'll be right back, and leaves his mic open to make himself look less suspicious; and then he exits his office, pulls on his sneakers and a coat over his sweater and goes outside.

The road to Tommy's house is familiar, and he walks it quietly, listening to the wind whistling past his ears. He's still warm from the radiator he'd been sitting next to, so he walks a bit faster to preserve the feeling. 

The roads are desolate and empty, and he'll hear a car driving by every so often. But he can't see anyone. Maybe he should be panicking.

He turns, facing his own house. There's no one around him; no one on the sidewalk, no one on any of the porches, no where. He turns away from the houses, scanning the little park in the middle of the block that'd previously been obscured with bushes.

There's someone on the swings.

"Tommy!" Phil calls. "Oh my Jesus!"

Phil jogs to the playground, where a blonde teenager is sat on the lone swing. He's wearing Tommy's shirt, and his hands are slack around the swing. He jerks when he hears Phil approaching, and bleary blue eyes blink slowly to look up at him. 

"Phil?" Tommy says, voice cracking. "Phil, I'm cold."

"No shit," Phil says, gently grasping Tommy's hand and removing it from the chain. It's freezing. Phil takes off his jacket, wrapping it around the boy. "C'mon."

Phil pulls Tommy up, slowly, and threads the teenager's skinny arms through the jacket sleeves before zipping it up and tucking his hands in the pockets. "Let's go."

Phil leads them back to his house, arm wrapped around Tommy. He's shivering, and despite being a good few inches taller he seems like he's curling into Phil's side. He's entirely silent the whole way to Phil's house, and his quiet is only interrupted by a quiet sob. Phil squeezes him tighter and pulls him up the stairs onto the porch. They should get to warmth before talking.

Opening the door allows a wave of heat to hit them like a wall, and Phil can see the color flood back into the teenager's pale, tearstained cheeks. He doesn't bother taking off his shoes, instead pulling Tommy into his office and sitting him down onto the couch.

He has some hot chocolate Kristen had left him with in a thermos on a desk so he pours some out in a mug, watching Tommy slowly come to, flexing his fingers and staring at them blankly. The boy's hair is ruffled by the wind, sticking up in all directions, and his hands seem to slowly be coming back to life. Phil sits down next to him and offers him the mug.

Tommy stares at it for a minute. Phil keeps it held out. Tommy takes it with shaking hands, cups it in both, and puts it down on the coffee table like it's a pet. Phil sees tears starting to grow in his eyes.

"I'm really sorry," Tommy mumbles earnestly. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I can leave."

"Hey," Phil says. "You're staying here, alright? What happened?"

"I don't know," Tommy says, looking at his hands. "I-"

He stops speaking. Phil reaches out a hand, and Tommy takes it. "I'm sorry for bothering you. I- I should go. Your jacket."

"I don't mind not wearing my jacket, Tommy."

"I'm sorry."

"You mean so much to me, alright? Me and everyone else." Phil says. "You don't have to apologise."

Tommy curls in then, and Phil wraps his arms around the teenager, who lets out a couple of quiet sobs. "I- Wilbur hates me," he chokes out. "You should too. I k-keep _bothering_ you."

"You aren't bothering me, kid," Phil says, shifting so Tommy is comfortably situated against him. "You're like a son to me. You, Wilbur and Techno."

The boy's breath hitches. "I'm disappointing."

"You aren't."

"I am!" he snaps, the loudest he's been today. "Phil, you fucking know I am. I'm too loud and annoying and- and obnoxious and no one likes me and- and-"

"Tommy," Phil says. He doesn't know what to say. Tommy's never been one to be vulnerable to anyone but Wilbur or Tubbo, and neither of them were here. 

Maybe, though...

Phil stands up carefully, bringing the teenager with him, Tommy somewhere between standing and being dragged. "Do you want me to have to carry you?" Phil teases quietly. Tommy shoots him a watery smile, eyes almost lidded. 

Phil pushes him into the extra chair next to his desk, throwing the throw blanket over him haphazardly, and taps his keyboard. He's still in the call. Techno and Wilbur are also there, and, according to their quiet discussion, have heard everything from the opposite end of the screen. 

"Guys," Phil says. "Tommy. Wilbur, apologise."

Tommy doesn't argue when Phil leans over and settles the headset over his ears. He barely speaks as Phil watches what he assumes is Wilbur apologising, and doesn't protest when Phil calls his mom and tells her that Tommy's staying over and that yes, he was fine. Tears do drip down his face at points, but he giggles at things the two on call say, and when Phil retrieves his headphones he's passed out in the chair. He thankfully doesn't wake up when Phil picks him up off his chair and tucks him into the guest bedroom like he's done too many times in the last few months.

It's cold in the room, so Phil turns up the heater before leaving.

**Author's Note:**

> Philza Minecraft
> 
> funny thing aha i haven't kept up with the arg this is just me being cold when im sad
> 
> thank you for clicking on this!! i hope we've all been doing well, or that if we haven't then that it gets better. i have my last test in two days and it's maths. (i know nothing so help me)
> 
> The Discord server is open! It's been open for three days now and we already have a little community <33 If anyone from the Discord is reading this, I love and appreciate you all for calling me more of a dumbass than you expected. It was honestly very funny to know.
> 
> If you find Discord servers overwhelming, I've tried to keep this one relatively small and easy to navigate because I have the same issue :) So don't worry about that!
> 
> Here's a permanent link if you'd like to join (just copy paste it into a web browser!)  
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm
> 
> ANYWAYS, Kudos, comments and bookmarks are appreciated!! I love you all a ton and don't forget to reach out to anybody if you need help!! Love yourself and stay safe!! <3


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